‘They’re coming this way,’ I told Terry in a thick voice. I peered downhill for the last time to make sure that my reasoning had not led me into needless panic. It was true, I thought, that the obvious course for these two men to follow was straight in our direction. They had surmounted the steepest grade of the hill and they could afford to face a further climb while their antagonists laboured behind them. If these two kept to the ridge on which they had arrived they had a fortress ready made before them. Yet, elated by their success, they might not choose to climb farther, but veering east across the rolling moor, try to escape by speed of foot. I hoped in vain. When I looked back the leading fugitive had gained forty or fifty yards on his companion. He sat down coolly behind a stone to aim deliberately at the rabble below. His rifle spoke once, twice. At the second shot a yelling ruffian flung up his arms; his voice died in the middle of a shout; he tumbled backwards and rolled like a log down the steep. The marksman began to climb again. I led Terry out of our hiding.

We might escape without being seen if the fugitives turned at bay on the crown of the hill. But if they got far in advance of pursuit they might not halt there; instead, chasing in our tracks, they would lead danger after us wherever we went, and if they were swift there was a possibility of their seeing us and overtaking us. I could not hope for much mercy in that event. To men in their plight all other men were dangerous, to be killed before they kill. We were both weak and slow; my side kept dragging; our hunger had weakened us more than we imagined until we came to run. We kept the steadiest pace we could up the shoulder of the hill, down the other ridge towards Loch an Doire Uaine.

Safety awaited us if we got so far as the loch without being seen. From the loch we could slip back into the Little Durc amongst whose caverns there were many dens of refuge that no enemy would dare to assault. If we succeeded in our plan, it would only be by seconds. A dangerous peat-hag divided us from Loch an Doire Uaine.

My thoughts raced ahead of me as we ran. I had never lost my dread of bogs since that time I escaped from the hole in the Durc. I dreaded the traverse of this moss in front of us. Pathless, full of peaty canyons dug by winter floods, it made a labyrinth that I had never attempted to thread in haste until now. I caught Terry’s hand to help her along. She clung to me as we scurried downhill.